


Upon a Glass Road

by Ashkaztra



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 06:18:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3436646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashkaztra/pseuds/Ashkaztra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is when no other option remains you learn how far you are willing to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upon a Glass Road

**Author's Note:**

> Detailed warnings at the end.
> 
> Porn Battle IX - Prompt: John Sheppard/Todd, broken, surrender, forced to rely on each other, adversaries, Wraith physiology, twisted, control, need

The Wraith bites him, sinks his teeth into the junction between shoulder and neck hard enough to draw blood, like the vampire John likes to compare them to when he feels like being flippant. 

He doesn't suckle at the blood, though, just laps the excess up with a too-agile tongue, agile and almost rough. Not as rough as a cat's, but nothing like human. Never like human. That resemblance is only skin deep.

The teeth in John's neck are much deeper, holding him in place unless he wants a chunk of flesh torn loose. 

A pound of flesh. 

If he wasn't where he was, with a Wraith's hand grasping his wrists, holding them behind his back, as unyielding as iron, he would have laughed. 

The hysterical laughter tries to bubble up in his throat anyway, like rising bile, and the Wraith must pick up on it, because he shifts slightly, lifting his feeding hand to John's face. Embarrassingly grateful for the distraction, John laps at the feeding slit, closing his eyes and willing their surroundings away, willing everything away but the cool body pressed against his, the pain in his neck and wrists, and the earthy musk of the enzyme on his tongue. 

The Wraith makes a pleased sound, the vibrations resonating through John's body. He likes that, likes the feeling of John's tongue in his feeding organ. It is the only advantage John has and he clings to it. It feels like a tiny shred of power, and it is all he has.

Besides, as long as the feeding hand is on his face, it's not on his chest.

He shivers, and it has nothing to do with the temperature. He is entirely naked, his clothing taken from him, but the chamber isn't cold. The ice he feels comes from inside him. 

Forcing his mind back on track, he pushes his tongue deeper into the feeding organ. The enzyme wells up around his tongue, dripping out of the organ and down John's face, and it's warm and rich, and he wants to drink it down and let it take his mind away. He doesn't, though. Instead he licks mechanically and tries to not think about how the tip of his tongue feels numb. 

The teeth in his neck dig deeper and John arches, gasping into the feeding organ. He feels over-sensitized, and the pain melts into pleasure until he can't tell the difference any more.

Behind him, the Wraith lets go of his wrists, but John doesn't move his arms, just keeps arching back into the solid body behind him. The now free hand wanders over his chest, sharp claws dragging across his nipples just hard enough to almost hurt. It feels better than it has any right to feel. Wraith hands are big, big and strong, and John pushes into the touch. 

Absurdly, the hand on his chest makes him feel safe. 

If the Wraith had intended to eat him, he would have, back when they first escaped the dungeons, in that feverish desperation they had both felt. The Wraith had been starving and injured. John had been abandoned. 

The pain from being fed upon was nothing compared to the pain when Atlantis stopped taking Kolya's calls. 

He hadn't wanted to believe it at first, had wanted to think it was a trick, but he'd lost track of how long he'd waited. Nobody had come. 

Until the Wraith came; until the Wraith came to cull and they had used the chaos to escape. 

The other Wraith don't trust "his" Wraith, and John knows his Wraith doesn't trust them either. But they need their ship and their resources and to gain those, they must play their cards right. 

John's Wraith has promised him the self-destruct codes to the ship when they have what they need, has promised him the right to choose if they live and die. John has no real reason to trust a Wraith, not really, but his Wraith killed him and brought him back when he didn't have to, and John has nobody else to turn to. 

It's not trust, not by a long shot, but it is something. He just isn't sure what.

Whatever it is, it runs deep. Deep enough that he has placed his life in the Wraith's hands. Again. It doesn't hurt nearly as much this time, just the sting from where the teeth has dug into his skin and the dull ache of humiliation. He can live with both of those.

The alternative is much worse.

Wrenching his hand free with a reluctance John can feel coming off of him in waves, the Wraith pulls his teeth free of John's flesh and pushes him to his knees.

John's knees hit the floor with a thud, but he barely feels it. The floor is slightly warm beneath him and it pulses rhythmically, slowly, the heartbeat of the ship itself. It feels strange, alien, and that almost makes him laugh. The bubble in his throat is hysterical and he swallows it down as best as he could. The Wraith seems to notice, threading his hand into John's hair and pulling his hair back, sharply, taking his mind off of everything but his presence.

A small mewling sound escapes his lips, but John has no idea if it's pain, discomfort or maybe unbidden pleasure. It's probably a mix of them all. Shivering, he presses his head back into the touch.

Accept it, the Wraith told him, or at least pretend that you do, and be convincing. John doesn't think the other Wraith can tell the difference between real submission and false. He knows he is rapidly losing track.

The fingers in his hair are strangely gentle, almost caressing, and the relief it brings almost makes his knees buckle. He doesn't know if he can do this. Complete submission isn't in his nature, not like this. Every report on him mentions that he doesn't respect authority, after all. Except that he does, really, as long as it's authority that is worth respecting. He just doesn't think suggesting alternatives to a difficult situation is disrespect.

There is no room for disrespect here, though, the Wraith in absolute control. There isn't another option, no better alternative to suggest, and as frightening as the thought is, it comes easy this time. The Wraith effortlessly demands his submission, but he doesn't force it. John gives it anyway.

Letting go of John's hair, the Wraith steps around John, looming over him like a dark omen. John doesn't know when he opened his eyes, but they're open now and he can't tear them away from the Wraith in front of him. His Wraith, some part of his mind echoes, unbidden, and he swallows and carefully avoids making eye contact. Those yellow eyes see far too much.

They're both naked, their skin bare to the room, but only John seems to feel vulnerable. The Wraith wear his skin with a confidence John could never hope to emulate. It's a powerful sight, pale green skin marked and decorated by a multitude of tattoos, some more elaborate than others. The confidence with which he shows it off makes John's mouth go dry with something he can't identify.

The Wraith reaches out and tilts John's head up, though he doesn't force him to make eye contact, just looks at John's face with an inscrutable expression. With his thumb, ever mindful of the claws, he rubs away the traces of the enzyme that is still on John's skin. It's a deceptively caring gesture.

Too caring. They're going down dangerous territory and there are no brakes.

In a desperate attempt to distract himself, or maybe the Wraith, John flicks his tongue out, traces the skin of the thumb. He likes how the Wraith tastes, earthy and metallic and nothing like human. His tongue is still numb from the enzyme, but the cool and smooth skin makes it feel better. 

The Wraith steps closer and pulls his hand back, and John is faced with better things to use his tongue for. He is familiar with Wraith anatomy on a completely clinical level, but seeing it up close is an entirely different thing. The Wraith is hardly the first male John has been on his knees before, but the anatomy is not quite the same and he doesn't know where to start. 

Making a wild guess, he licks a wet trail down along the Wraith's hip bone first, following dark ink marks down. It seems well received, the Wraith looking down at him, head tilted as though to try figuring him out.

It occurs to John that with those teeth, Wraith probably don't indulge in oral sex much. It gives him a little thrill, knowing he has a momentary upper hand. He licks at the skin again, slowly and deliberately, trying to make his mind focus long enough to make a plan of action. 

Though the Wraith anatomy is different than human, it isn't entirely alien. It reminds him a bit of the feeding organ, actually, a closed slit over a raised bump, though larger and more pronounced. Since that is his frame of reference, that is what John does, leaning in to lick along the slit. 

The Wraith hisses, but shows no sign of anger or pain, so John takes it as encouragement, doing it again. 

The earthy, metallic flavour is stronger along the slit, muskier, and it tastes remarkably nice. Between the taste and the encouraging little sounds he's drawing from the Wraith, John is almost enjoying himself enough to forget where he is, forget what he is doing and why. 

Under his tongue, the slit swells until it begins unfolding, parting to let the organ beneath slide out. The basic shape is familiar, but the Wraith's cock is heavily textured, covered in ridges and bumps, especially toward the root. It feels much the same to John's tongue, though, and he instinctively opens his mouth and takes as much of it in as he can. He has always liked doing this for his lovers, loves watching them come apart, and it seems to have the same effect on the Wraith, who is digging his claws into the wall, making a continuous rumbling sound.

The whole situation is much more arousing than it has any right to be, and John doesn't want to think about that. Instead, he takes the Wraith's cock in deeper, head bobbing up and down, his tongue flickering against the underside ridges as he moves. He tries to focus on doing what he enjoys, but it's hard to translate the exact anatomy. It seems to work, though, the Wraith's breathing faster and more erratic than John has ever heard it. 

There is a flare of warm pride in his chest; his Wraith is old and powerful, and he is making him lose control. 

Eventually, the Wraith stops him, pulling his hair back again, still sharply painful, still oddly pleasant. His lips feel swollen and his jaw sore, but it doesn't matter. 

He doesn't resist when the Wraith pulls him to his feet. Even if he hadn't promised to obey, the Wraith is so much stronger than him it would be pointless. Instead, he allows the Wraith to lift him, setting him down on an inactive panel pedestal, close enough to the wall that he can lean back and breathe for a moment, gathering his thoughts, his thoughts and his courage. 

This has been the plan all along, but it seems far more intimidating now than it had. It has been a long time since he was fucked last, and his last male lover had been a pretty normal guy. A mechanic with a garage near his college. Not a very strong, very alien creature with claws and razor teeth. 

Now is not the time for panic. He fights the urge to flee and watches the Wraith instead. 

The Wraith moves like a predator, all predatory grace and imposing figure. It should not be possible to be menacing when naked and erect, not like that, but it works for him. The room is dimly lit, and his eyes glow an eerie blue. Retrieving a bottle of clear liquid, the Wraith gives a satisfied hiss and returns to John's side. 

The oil in the bottle smells resin-like, like pine sap and smoke, and it's oddly warm as the Wraith rubs it into him. John leans back against the wall, closes his eyes and tries not to think about those sharp, scary nails. The Wraith seems to know his limits, though, surprisingly gentle in his ministrations, at least as far as preparation goes. 

When he pulls his fingers free and pushes inside John, he is everything but, and John cries out in a mixture of surprise and something in-between pain and pleasure. His legs twitch, toes curling, and he wraps them around the Wraith's waist, hanging onto him as he's fucked relentlessly. 

Burrowing his face into John's neck, the Wraith whispers what is probably reassurance, but John's mind is too mixed up to translate it, and it sounds like a rhythmic chant that rises and fades with the thrusts. Unable to respond verbally, his words crumbling on his tongue, John claws helplessly at the Wraith's shoulders instead, digging his blunt nails into the flesh.

Before long, the stimulation sends John over the edge, his senses overloading completely. He makes a half-strangled moan as he goes boneless, still clinging to his Wraith's shoulders like a limpet, trying to catch his breath. 

There is a sudden pain/pleasure spike as the Wraith bites down on his shoulder again, teeth sinking into the already sore flesh, and thrusts a few more time, growling into the bite. He stays like that for a while before letting go, licking John's blood from his neck as he does. 

John is grateful when the Wraith helps him down and onto the bed-like structure. He doesn't think he can walk on his own right now. 

Thankfully, he doesn't have to. It's his Wraith who will have to face the others; as far as they're concerned John is nothing but his worshipper, an obedient little toy. They will be monitoring them as long as they are on the ship, and they will notice any slip-ups.

Curling into the bed, John wonders how long it has been since he slept in a proper bed. Too long. He will stay there and sleep, and his Wraith, reeking of them both and of sex, will go to play his part. 

And if all goes as it should, they will not have to play for long. The Wraith will have his Hive back, John will find out what happened with Atlantis, and they will go their separate ways. 

And all bets will be off. 

For now, though, he sleeps, and if he keeps touching the bite mark on his neck as though it's a comfort, well, there is nobody there to see.

**Author's Note:**

> The sex is consensual. However, the decision to have sex is forced by circumstances. To gain the trust of the other Wraith, Todd and John have to convince the other Wraith that John is just a worshipper/plaything. Because they're not yet trusted, they're under psychic surveillance. 
> 
> John is exposed to the Wraith enzyme and it might have lowered his inhibitions.


End file.
